


all systems down (vent)

by cascountsdeansfreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Has Panic Attacks (Supernatural), Gas-N-Sip (Supernatural), Gas-N-Sip Employee Castiel (Supernatural), Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Sensory Overload, could be read as romantic or just friendship tbh, no beta we die like men, not really canon compliant??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:13:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26370061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascountsdeansfreckles/pseuds/cascountsdeansfreckles
Summary: He can’t breathe. It’s hard enough already, Jimmy’s body had grown so used to not needing oxygen that it rarely ever moves on autopilot, but now he’s sucking air into his lungs and it feels as though he’s achieving nothing. His head whirls. Car doors slam too loud and too suddenly. There is a loose string inside of the arm of his jacket that is tickling him and he wants it off but it’s far too cold. He can’t breathe. His hands fumble with his phone and before he can think better of it he’s tripping over his useless feet to slump down on the curb and calling the first person that comes to mind.Dean picks up on the second ring.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 83





	all systems down (vent)

**Author's Note:**

> tw // anxiety attack, panic attack, sensory overload
> 
> hey y’all this is a vent tbh it was supposed to be the “can you come get me?” prompt and then my issues kicked in <3 there is a pretty specific description of a panic attack, please mind the trigger warnings.

Cas can feel everything so astutely that it all becomes too much the moment he steps outside of the gas station. His hoodie is no longer enough to stop the winter chill from biting at his skin, raising small bumps along his spine and his arms that he never noticed before. The wind pushes his too long hair against his forehead and his cheek with just enough weight behind it to aggravate him, but there’s nothing he can do about it. There are people at the pumps, with music playing out of their cars just loud enough that he can hear it but not so much that he can tell what songs are playing. Somehow even that adds to his irritable mood. Someone brushes by him on their way toward the door and he feels his body yank away from them before he can think to do it himself.

On top of all of this physical sensation is the emotions swirling around inside of him. Emotions he’s read before on humans but only ever felt himself with a dulled perception. He thought he’d hurt when he killed his brothers and sisters, hurt when Dean would hang up on him and leave him standing beside a highway. But he didn’t know what it was to be hurt until he truly fell. Until the last of his dwindling grace was ripped away from him.

He can’t breathe. It’s hard enough already, Jimmy’s body had grown so used to not needing oxygen that it rarely ever moves on autopilot, but now he’s sucking air into his lungs and it feels as though he’s achieving nothing. His head whirls. Car doors slam too loud and too suddenly. There is a loose string inside of the arm of his jacket that is tickling him and he wants it off but it’s far too cold. He can’t breathe. His hands fumble with his phone and before he can think better of it he’s tripping over his useless feet to slump down on the curb and calling the first person that comes to mind.

Dean picks up on the second ring.

“Cas?”

“Can you come pick me up?” His voice sounds incredibly small. He closes his eyes against another cold rush of wind. 

“What’s goin’ on? Are you hurt? Is there someone there?” Dean’s voice is rough, laced with anxiety and concern that just makes Cas feel more uncomfortable in his prickling skin. 

“No, I’m not--can you just come get me? Please?” He feels incredibly small. If he leans back a little, the wind blows against him so violently that he can pretend he’s flying again. “I’m at the Gas-N-Sip.”

“Okay,” Dean says, a soothing note to his voice that tells Cas he figured out this isn’t the kind of distress call he’d been expecting. “I’m leaving right now, I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Thank you.” He hangs up the phone and drops it into his lap without waiting for Dean to respond. People walk by him without stopping to make sure he is okay, which is probably for the best, because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle someone touching him or looking at him wrong. He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his forehead there until he hears the Impala pull into the parking spot right next to him. By that time, he’s breathing normally again. His feet feel solid beneath him and the cold is more of a nuisance than a stressor. The engine purrs so recognizably that Cas lifts his head on instinct and stands on shaking legs.

Dean watches him, eyes tracking his every step as he walks around the hood to get to the passenger side. He slides into the warm car as gracefully as possible, immediately leaning against the closed door and pressing his forehead to the unyielding glass of the window. They sit in the parking lot in silence for what could be an hour or no more than a minute, Cas has no idea. Dean’s gaze rests on him the entire time. Then, a deep breath and the sound of the car shifting gears. The road rumbles clumsily beneath them as they begin to drive.

If Cas had still been panicking, the confining walls of the car and the bumps on the road would have been too much for him. Instead, he barely registers them. Dean doesn’t say anything, doesn’t press him or even look at him more than the occasional wellness check.

It takes them much longer to get to the bunker than it took Dean to get to the Gas-N-Sip after Cas called him. He must’ve sped the whole way, Cas realizes as the garage door creaks shut behind them and blocks out the last of the winter sunlight. The car is off, but Dean doesn’t make to get out.

“Did something happen,” he asks finally, “or did you just get overwhelmed?”

Cas, suddenly ashamed, stares at the side mirror, as though fascinated by the view of the side of the car and the garage door. He has never seen Dean or Sam like this without reason, he realizes. They only ever break down in the face of horrifying losses and unshakable traumas. He was just a little overwhelmed, and he called Dean to rescue him.

“I’m sorry--” he begins, but Dean waves a hand and shakes his head.

“No, Cas. No. That’s not what I meant.” Dean sighs, clearly searching for words. “That happens, okay? Happens to me all the time.” Cas makes a noise of disbelief. “It does. I’m just--god, used to it isn’t the right term--I know how to ground myself.”

“Ground?”

“You know, like come back down to earth.”

“I think being on earth is my problem.”

“Listen, smartass, it’s a figure of speech.” Cas smiles a little at that, his chest giving a feeble kick. Now that is disconcerting. His heart likes to do gymnastics all day-especially when he’s with Dean-when he’s least expecting it, and it’s beyond bothersome. “Listen, why don’t you come in for a while? I’ll fix you something to eat if you’re hungry and I’ll tell you some of the stuff I do to ground myself. It’s different for everybody, but at least next time you’ll have some things to try out.”

Dean waits for him to nod before getting out of the car and slapping the roof a couple of times. Cas joins him and looks at him questioningly.

“I’m glad you called, Cas.”

“Me too.”


End file.
